Page 72

I stare down at my hands, breathing unsteady, each exhale a shudder that rattles through my bones. The energy still hums, slow and dangerous, a current I can’t control, can’t release. Silver light flickers faintly at my fingertips before fading.

I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t mean?—

It just happened. Fear. Anger. It lashed out on its own.

And now …

Six men are dead.

The bandits were dangerous. They wouldn’t have let us go. I know that. I know it .

But I was the spark. The match that lit the fuse. The moment I reacted, everything shifted. And now the clearing reeks of blood and death, because I couldn’t hold back whatever this thing inside me is.

Sacha appears beside me, moving without sound, as though the violence he unleashed left no weight on him at all. The darkness still clings to him, swirling just beneath the skin on his arms, beautiful and terrible, a living thing that answers only to him. His eyes are still black as night.

“Are you hurt?” His voice is steady, controlled—a stark, jarring contrast to the carnage that still bleeds across the ground.

I shake my head, throat tight, but the words slip out before I can stop them.

“Was it my fault?”

Sacha’s gaze flicks to me, but he doesn’t answer.

That’s it. A look. No softening. No explanation. He doesn’t tell me what I need to hear. That the outcome would have been the same, that my reaction didn’t tip the scales, that these deaths don’t rest on my hands.

And because he doesn’t say it, the doubt sinks deeper. Heavy. Permanent .

The merchants are staring at us, at him , with expressions caught between terror and something else. Varam moves among them, cutting their restraints, while Mira checks their injuries.

“What …” The eldest one struggles to speak, his gaze locked on Sacha like a man who just witnessed something from beyond the grave. “What are you?”

“Just travelers,” Sacha replies, his tone dismissive. But the darkness hasn’t fully receded. His eyes remain black. No iris, no white, just depthless void that seems to swallow light itself.

The merchant shakes his head, backing away slightly. His hand forms a symbol against his chest. A ward against evil, or a prayer to something he doesn’t believe in enough to save him .

“No. I’ve heard the stories. Old stories.” His voice shakes. “You are the Shadowvein Lord.”

The words drop into sudden silence. A silence so heavy it seems to push the trees outward, to shudder through the ground beneath our feet.

Even the two still-living bandits stop groaning, their pain momentarily forgotten.

Sacha doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, just stands there while darkness rolls off him in slow, living currents, caressing the air like a thing alive.

In this moment, he’s not a man. He’s something else. Something vast. Something terrifying.

“The High Authority said you were dead,” the merchant continues, words tumbling out faster now, as if speaking them will protect him. “I remember the announcement. I’ve been in Ashenvale during their yearly celebration. They burn an effigy of you every year.”

“The Authority is not as infallible as they would have their subjects believe.” Sacha’s voice cuts through the clearing like a knife.

One of the surviving bandits, barely conscious, struggles to his knees. Blood drips from his split lip as his gaze moves between Sacha and me, fear giving way to something like awe.

His breath shudders from him in a harsh rasp.

“The Vareth’el …” He swallows hard, then looks at me, eyes widening further. “And his companion with stars in her eyes.”

My hand darts to my face, fingers pressing against my skin like I can wipe away whatever he sees. A fresh wave of unease rolls through me. His words aren’t just fear-driven. He knows something. Something I don’t.

Sacha turns to the gathered merchants.

“Tell them.” His voice is cold. “Tell them that the Shadowvein Lord has returned. Tell any Authority soldiers you see that the Vareth’el is coming, and their time of reckoning approaches.”

Varam steps closer, his blade still dark with blood. “We need to kill them.”

The words are calm. Practical. No malice, just necessity.

My breathing stops, the world narrowing to the tight, frozen moment where Sacha’s choice will fall. He considers Varam’s words, his gaze sweeping over the terrified faces. His eyes pause on me.

“No. Let them live to spread the word. Fear will weaken the Authority’s hold faster than any direct attack.”

His decision should ease the weight crushing my chest, but it doesn’t. There’s no mercy behind it, and the bodies on the ground—the ones still breathing, and the ones that aren’t—are proof of something I set in motion. Proof that I’m not blameless.

He turns to me. “Can you walk?”

I nod. I’ll crawl if I have to, just to get away from this clearing.

“Good. We need to move before anyone else arrives.”

The merchants scramble to gather what remains of their belongings, still shaken, still watching. With fear. With hope. With terrible anticipation.

We leave them behind, stepping back into the dense forest. Varam leads us away from the main path again, taking a different route, one that keeps us hidden among the trees .

Only when we’re far enough that the clearing is long out of sight, does he turn to Sacha and speak.

“That was reckless. Word will spread.”

Sacha lets out a soft breath, the last of the darkness peeling away from his skin.

“Good. Let them know what comes for them.”

Varam shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything more.

We press deeper into the trees. The ground is uneven beneath my feet. Branches claw at my clothes. But it’s not the forest that presses in on me. It’s the clearing we left behind. The bandits’ lifeless bodies. The silver light that flickered at my fingertips.

The way Sacha hadn’t answered me.

Was it my fault?

I don’t know.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be sure.

But doubt follows me into the trees, wrapping around my ribs, sinking into my lungs. A shadow that won’t leave me alone.

“Here.” A hand enters my vision. I blink, focusing on the flask in Sacha’s hand.

I don’t question it, just uncap it and drink. The liquid burns its way down my throat, making me cough and catch my breath, but almost immediately, warmth spreads through my limbs, driving away the deep chill that’s settled into my bones.

I hand it back. “What is that?”

“Essence of mountain fire-root. It gives temporary restoration for those depleted by magical exertion.”

“You had that this whole time? ”

One corner of his mouth kicks up at the incredulous tone in my voice. That faintest hint of a smile, gone almost before it forms. “You weren’t in danger before. Now, you need it.”

I should ask him again about whether it was my fault. But the opportunity is lost when Varam calls his name, and he strides forward to walk beside the other man.

By late afternoon, we finally reach the edge of the forest. The land slopes into a broad valley, but it isn’t the valley itself that makes me stop. It’s the mist.

It moves unnaturally, swirling in slow patterns, coiling and uncoiling like something alive. The closer I look, the more it unsettles me, the more the air itself seems to pulse against my skin.

“The Veil Mists,” Sacha says from beside me. “Named for the way they hide what lies beneath.”

“What does lie beneath?”

He doesn’t answer me … again .

The sun begins its descent, its rays cutting through the vapor like golden columns. For a moment, the effect is breathtaking—shafts of light stretching into the mist like something tangible.

“It’s beautiful.”

Sacha nods. “And useful. The Authority won’t follow us here. Their vision is too limited, and the mists disorient those unfamiliar with navigating them.”

We set off down the slope as twilight falls, and the world around us shifts. Sound behaves strangely—muffled one moment, amplified the next, twisting in ways that defy explanation. Light bends, making shapes in the mist seem closer or farther away, some of them moving when they shouldn’t.

My pulse ticks higher, unease creeping along my spine, like the brush of unseen fingers.

Varam leads us to a well-used campsite in a clearing with the remnants of old fires and crude log benches arranged in a rough circle. The mist stays at the edges, thick enough to obscure everything beyond a few yards, enclosing us in a pocket of privacy that feels more like a snare than a shelter.

“We’ll stay here tonight. No fires. Cold rations only. Don’t leave the circle for any reason.”

While the others prepare for the night, I lower myself onto one of the logs, my muscles aching, joints stiff. The mist shifts and curls, hypnotic in its movement, threading between the trees like it’s searching for something.

I rest my hands on my lap, and stare at them.

I lost control back there.

No wild explosion. But I still slipped.

Sacha sits beside me, offering dried meat and fruit without a word. His presence is calm, unaffected, as though the violence of earlier was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

I take the food without argument, suddenly aware of how empty I feel. The first bite barely registers, but by the third, hunger has clawed its way back into my body. A brutal reminder that survival is an ugly, persistent thing.

“I couldn’t stop it.” I force the words out between mouthfuls. “When that bandit touched me. ”

“Minimal manifestation. Better than expected, given the circumstances.” His calm response just makes it worse.

“He said I had stars in my eyes. What did he mean?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze on the mist, as though whatever they are is more important than my question.

“Old stories persist, even under authority suppression. Tales of those with natural abilities. You fit patterns they would recognize from those stories.”

“And what happens if I can’t get control of this before we reach Ashenvale?” I look down at my hands again, remembering the silver light that flickered across my skin.

“That won’t happen.”

“You don’t know that.”